


the things that make you, break you

by vakrokyrr



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Gen, sometimes you just love one girl and make the content you desire yourself u.u, this was supposed to be character reflection on post game rhyme. and then this happened instead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-28 00:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20957513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vakrokyrr/pseuds/vakrokyrr
Summary: And how do you fill in the gaps for things you have forgotten? How do you start anew?( Sometimes, God just happens to be listening to your pleas, unluckily enough )





	1. ( step one: live in the aftermath of shattered pieces )

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to participate in the TWEWY Bang this year since TWEWY holds a special place in my heart, and despite life getting in the way a bit, here we are! Of course, I always try to bite off more than I can chew, so what originally started off as a character reflection on Rhyme grew to a longer multichap that I'm still working on. I'm hoping to have it done sooner rather than later!
> 
> The TDLR; premise here is playing with TWEWY's concept of parallel universes and also looking at how Rhyme in particular would handle things post game. 
> 
> A quick **trigger warning** since this fic deals with canon typical violence, death ( mentions ) and trauma. Mostly the last two things though.

### ( step one: live in the aftermath of shattered pieces )

Darkness. Light. Warmth. Brisk. Rhyme has some sense of awareness in the state of limbo she is in, somewhere between life and death.

And then she is alive again, they all are. It is perhaps not so much a miracle, because hadn’t they all hoped— dreamed, as one might say— that they would survive the Reapers’ Game? Should they have even expected to make it back?

And yet, they are here. She is back, and she is not. She is here, and except—

Except, except— there is something missing. There is something wrong.

She does not feel alive, not truly. At what cost is she still here, she wonders; at what cost is she allowed to be alive.

( You feel like you have forgotten what being alive feels like )

She does not ask, for she knows no one would be able to give her an answer.

* * *

She wonders if any of them had actually thought about what they’d do in the aftermath.

After all, for seven days, all they needed to know how to do is survive.

( And then seven days again, and again— )

They have survived, so now they must live through the fallout; in ways, it is more and less severe than they expect it to be.

At home, things are mostly the same: Beat does not see eye to eye with their parents, and even if they do not care about him, they do care about her, so they argue— she is present, more often than not, and his eyes will dart over to her, and if things escalate, well— at the very least, he does not take to storming out of the house to resolve the conflict.

It goes unsaid, but Rhyme has always been a perceptive child, and that is no less true when it comes to her brother; she notices the barely present flinch when Beat sees her watching, the flash of pain that flickers in his expression. The smell of asphalt, the sound of tires—

The way her body goes limp and hits the pavement.

And of course, she cannot blame him for holding onto that guilt still, fresh in their minds; he has had to live with the consequences of that more vividly than she has had to. So in turn, she cannot take complete fault with him for wanting to avoid repeating the past, despite his... issues with their parents.

She does wish he could find a reason to want to try to change things, for his own sake, and not for her; find a reason for things that don’t revolve around her, but—

One step at a time.

Sometimes though, sometimes she ends up wondering why it is that thinking about his reasons leaves her chest feeling so hollow. Even as the younger sibling, you have always bearded the burden of responsibility, heavy on your shoulders; so this too, this new emptiness is buried under all that weight. She smiles at him encouragingly when he asks about it and doesn’t say a thing otherwise.

* * *

That is probably where the problem lies, really.

None of them really want to talk about the issues that plague them. There is the unspoken knowledge that no one escaped unscathed— physically, they are fine, but they all have some ghosts that haunts them. A choice that was or wasn’t made.

A phantom feeling that lingers in their bones.

She shouldn’t be the one to play psychiatrist here, she cannot judge them on what they should or shouldn’t do, is or isn’t healthy. Sometimes they need a little bit of a push, though, and Rhyme realizes that part of the problem is with her; she does not miss the way Beat’s gaze lingers on her and the way Shiki watches her while she changes the subject. Specifically, that none of them want to speak about it around her—and who is to blame them for feeling that way? Who wants to speak about what they saw around a child who seems to have gotten away without an issue? Who wants to talk about their issues with someone who did not experience the same thing?

She prods where she can and leaves herself out of the picture when she does, and if that means they are able to work on healing in her absence, then she cannot ask for anything more.

She smiles and bears the weight on her shoulders in silence, even as the gaps of what she is missing spreads ever further.

* * *

Her memories are a mess.

There are parts of the game that she can remember vividly, clear as day; that, if she were to be asked, she could recount in great detail. And then there are parts that she cannot recall so well, just bits and pieces and flashes of things that might have happened— that Rhyme cannot find it in herself to ask about because she does not want to disrupt the status quo, and perhaps it is better off if they are left thinking that she does not quite remember everything.

No, that is perhaps not all it is; perhaps it is because she is uncertain how Beat would react if she was to bridge this gap, but she does not want to give him an extra thing to worry over. That is not the way things are meant to be between them; little sister looks out for elder brother, so she will be selfishly selfless and keep these things to herself.

At what point, then, does her warm smile become less genuine and more of a forced act? At what point does her picture of innocence become a false image?

( You cannot pinpoint the moment where it began to reflect the emptiness eating you up on the inside )

* * *

Surprisingly, or perhaps completely unsurprisingly, he is the one to bring up that one week.

It is just the two of them, of course, as it is many a day; brother and sister are not often far apart. She knows these days, it is with a tinge of protectiveness, trying to make up for what he didn’t before, and—

“Your ice cream is meltin’, yo.” Train of thought broken, her gaze turns down to her hand— yikes, he really wasn’t kidding, huh. She munches on the cone so she can enjoy what she has while it lasts, salvage the remains of this sad puddle of cream and pulls a napkin from her pocket to clean up. Both of them are oddly quiet today, she realizes; and while it might not be too unusual for her, it certainly is for Beat, and watches her brother curiously.

“Rhymes?” There it is. She hums in acknowledgement, giving him her full attention ( which isn’t to say she usually gives him anything less than that, but given how easily distracted she’s been today, she makes sure she gives him nothing less than that ). “I’m... real sorry sis.”

That’s not particularly new to hear; there had been a lot of apologies when they’d first gotten back, for that sentiment to have lingered shouldn’t be surprising. Still, her brows raise a little, expression. “That’s, uh... I don’t know what you’re apologizing for?”

“I wanted to get it all back for ya— all your dreams ‘nd stuffs. I feel like I letcha down big time.” His head hangs a little and she frowns, opens her mouth to begin to speak, but he continues before she gets a chance to say anything. “But I’m gonna help you, I swear. I dunno how, but we’ll work on it togetha.”

And see, it’s not like she had not realized it before, and even if Beat has not noticed, it wasn’t like she has not been making her own efforts to fill in the gaps; but it is easier said than done, and there is something equal parts helpful and hurtful hearing him put it into words, knowing that even he’s realized there’s an issue. And maybe it’s because she has tried tackling all this on her own, Rhyme would like to stay hopeful, so she smiles and agrees with him, even if it doesn’t change a thing. “Sure, practice makes perfect, right?”

It doesn’t. It doesn’t, and everything stays the same. The empty feeling lingers, and she wonders how far that feeling can spread before the mirror will shatter.

And she remembers, she remembers—

* * *

Is it okay to just watch?

She has never been the most persistent, showed the most resistance— she might not just yield to things mindlessly, not quite that submissive, but it has never really hurt her to be complacent.

Rhyme remembers a conversation during the game, about dreams; her sentiments then match her ones now, that she will keep moving forward and surely, she will find something to fill the emptiness. Holds onto that distant hope that things will work themselves out.

She watches Beat and wonders if it is okay to do just that, watch as the distance between them grows until she can barely see him.

( One day, Rhyme thinks, no matter how much she tries, no matter how far she runs—she won’t be able to close that distance. That is life, and that is natural.

The thought still hurts to think about ).

* * *

“Rhyme,” A low murmur of her name catches her off guard— her head jerks up a little and she catches herself, a smile tugging at her lips as she sees the other. She does not even get the chance to greet Neku however, as he cuts her off with a gesture for her to follow him. Rhyme does so, but cannot help but feel like a child about to be scolded, the way he leads her away— enough that they have a little privacy, but still close enough so they are not out of seeing distance of the others. She’s not certain what he wants to talk about, and he does not seem to know where to start; she cannot prompt him in any way, instead settles for letting him speak when he’s ready and waits patiently.

“...How have you been?” He speaks after a moment, and her eyes crinkle a little at the edges at how awkwardly he speaks; even after all this time, Neku still struggles a bit with communicating. She is not close with him like he is with the others, so it is hard to read him completely— but they are not strangers and she can read him well enough, for the most part, to understand him.

“Fine. I’ve finally finished up the summer homework.” She fiddles with the end of her sleeves absentmindedly, wondering if there was anything in particular he was trying to get out of her, racking her mind to think if there was anything else worth mentioning. “Has Beat mentioned things have been getting better at home? It’s not much, but... I think he’s a little scared of getting his hopes up, you know? It’s never going to be a perfect situation, but it’s bearable.”

“He is?” Neku seems surprised by what she has to say, brows furrowing. “No, that wasn’t what I— listen. You’re usually the... capable one, compared to Beat so... I’m not sure if his worrying is more or less than what should be warranted, but you are worrying him. I think Shiki’s worried about you too.”

She’s not sure how to feel about his assessment of her; and she really isn’t surprised to hear this, she would have to be pretty oblivious to be unaware that there wasn’t worries, even if this is the first she’s hearing about it. Especially on Beat’s part, because he does worry, of course, and that’s part of why she loves her brother as much as she does, and it wouldn’t be like him to not worry, but— “And you too?” She can fill in some of the gaps of what he is trying to say, though she feels like she’s still missing part of the bigger picture here.

“I just—” A flash of guilt briefly his face. “It’s weird to see them mope. You didn’t— you don’t deserve to have to deal with it, but try to talk to him, if you can?”

“Yeah.” She speaks softly, back to that feeling of a child being chided, almost a bit shamefaced. “Yeah, I’ll try. I didn’t mean to... worry everyone.”

“Good.” He speaks, but his attention isn’t entirely on her, fiddling with his phone. A nervous tick he’s picked up from after the game, she’s almost certain. “And if you can’t talk to him, just find some way of getting it all out...? He might be upset if you’re keeping something from him, but I think he’d prioritize you feeling better over that.”

He might be a little more than upset, Rhyme corrects him silently. Beat is protective, not malicious— he would probably be upset, but not purposefully doing so to harm her. Regardless, she murmurs her assent, chewing on her lips for a moment before she speaks. “Hey, Neku, do you...” A long pause follows her words, it is not so much that she does not want to seem vulnerable, she is fine with that.

( No, child; perhaps it is that you have been so strong for so long that you no longer know how to be weak ).

“...Do you have a dream?”

“Do I?” Neku looks somewhere between startled and awkward now that the question has been turned to him, brows furrowed. “Sure. Maybe if you had asked me before...” Pause, a waving hand gesture “—Everything happened, I might’ve said no, maybe would have told you something vaguely related to art, but... I think it was hard to come out of that without some aspiration. Live for the future, you know?”

“Mm, I..” Rhyme wants to speak— say something, anything, the words on the tip of her tongue, but the words are so hard to form that they stick and are hard to be forced out.

_I’m not sure if I remember what it’s like. I don’t know if I can anymore._

“Rhymes, Phones!” Beat’s voice cuts in, loud and clear; causes both of their heads to snap up and puts a firm end to any further conversation. “C’mon! Shiki says we’re gonna be late if you two keeps slakin’ behind like this.”

“Coming!” She shouts back, to placate him; spares Neku a brief glance. “We should probably listen, before Beat decides he needs to come over here and drag us along instead.”

“Wait, Rhyme—” He speaks when she turns away, and she turns back to give him a serene smile.

“Don’t worry.” Although, as an afterthought, she thinks those words might only spark more concern, so she hurries to finish her sentence. “Everything always works out fine.”

She’s not entirely sure if either one of them completely believe that.

But she’d like to, and for now that’s good enough.

* * *

Come to WildKat.

Wednesday. Noon.

Don’t be late.

* * *

It reads kind of like a mission mail, unknown sender and all.

There is no threat of erasure, but she feels like there might be some underlying threat in there, somewhere. Like an imprint.

Still, she has no reason to not go— well, no, that’s not true. Rhyme has several reasons not to go, if she’s being honest, given the rather cryptic manner of the message; but she only remembers hearing ( mostly ) positive things in relation to WildKat and its owner, even if she lacks much to place her own judgement. She figures she should be safe in going along with it, she trusts her own gut instincts.

She considers asking for a second opinion, but then she might end up with someone else tagging along, and while she had not been told either way, she has a feeling she is meant to attend this... meeting ( if you could call it that ) alone. And so she does.

Though, at the last minute, she does reconsider it, because she really doesn’t care for lying to Beat. But in the end, she trusts that everything will be all right and tells him that she’s running out for an errand, that she’ll see him later.

He trusts her, of course— because she can do no wrong in anyone’s mind— and though she can tell he would like to tag along, he lets her go off on her own with a brief ruffle of her hair.

She feels a little worse about it all after that, but they both have their fair share of secrets in the end

And technically speaking, she is not lying, she really does have some errands she needs to take care of, just they are few and short enough that she can take care of them beforehand, and can at least make sure she won’t head home empty handed.

The shop is empty, notably, she cannot find a sign that indicates whether it is open or not; but since a quick test shows that the door is open, she enters, hesitantly— a scrap of paper lies with a cup at the counter, and she scoops up both objects in her hands for further inspection.

_Be back soon. In the meanwhile, why don’t you relax? Enjoy the moment with a nice drink. It should be to your liking._

She sniffs at the cup curiously, and, well— unsurprisingly, it smells good, so she goes ahead and takes a seat at a table and sips at the cup. Cocoa, still surprisingly warm, a hint of cream and cinnamon: it is almost exactly the way she prefers it, and as odd as that is, it is somewhat comforting for her, sips on the mug in silence while she waits.

After a while, the silence starts to get to her, and in need of a good distraction, Rhyme pulls out her phone and begins to fiddle with it. It is not so much the silence, but the fact that she is alone in a somewhat unfamiliar setting, along with several other factors that leave her perhaps a little unsettled; her fingers hover over her contacts, tentatively, considering if she should make a call ( and to who, at that ).

And then, as quick as that, things change. It is akin to feeling in the air, though she cannot spot anything different when her head turns— no, but it is in the sharp pain that causes her phone to fall from her hand and leaves breathless. It is a feeling like static noise, for a moment, there is a vivid memory that she cannot remember being hers, but it must be; familiar, like one she’s seen in her dream, because her brother is there, and Neku—

Something brushing against her hand grounds her, and her eyes focus on a figure in front of her as the pain lingers to a sting in the back of her mind. They have never met, formally speaking, but she knows him, of course. Well, knows of Joshua, anyhow; the bits and pieces that she has heard.

( Specifically, the very, very not so good things that she has heard, because she has had it drilled into her that she should she ever meet Shibuya’s Composer, she should not trust him, and that Neku is very wrong to still trust him, as Beat would say. Neku’s side of the story is more personal, one that she does not quite know, but she would like to think that his judgement is fair enough )

“My apologies. You do have quite a high imagination, don’t you?” He says, as if she would know the answer to that; stares at him, a little lost for a moment. “Still, yours is less than Neku’s. The frequency’s not supposed to be as bad in the RG. Better now?” For as condescending as he sounds, she gets the feeling that he’s at least somewhat sincere in what he says.

Regardless, her smile is mostly genuine as she shakes her head, fingers curling around her cooling cup as a comfort. “I-It’s fine, really... it’s not everyday that just anyone gets to meet with the Composer, right?”

“For most people? No.” A wry smile, a tilt of his head as he observes her. “That said, I don’t care for too much small talk. Let’s get to the point, shall we?”

She nods, though truthfully, she is not entirely sure what this is about.

“You are having a hard time adjusting, hm?” A thoughtful murmur, like he’s musing over something.

“Adjusting to what?” Again, Rhyme is not certain what he is talking about—which is almost frightening, if she thinks about it, since she should know herself best; regardless, while she might have an inkling, its best to not be a presumptuous.

“To being alive again— of course, it is debatable if Players are really dead, but in your case... well, only to be expected dear; we don’t often see people back without an entry fee, and we do that for a reason.” A frown. “Then again, given your situation, I can’t really blame you for not getting the full purpose that the game is meant to serve.”

“I...” She pauses to ponder her words, a little startled by the turn in subject: some part of her, she thinks, had hoped for this from the start, when she saw who it was to greet her here. “Is it hopeless, then? Am I meant to... move on, I suppose?”

“That’s really up to you.” He speaks, nonchalant shrug. “The fee has never meant to serve as a punishment, but for self-reflection. Most of those who come to participate in the Reapers’ Game, amongst other common qualities, are those who can serve a purpose, show worth; thus, in allowing them the chance to reflect, they can earn themselves a second chance. Those who don’t survive likely would not show enough potential, and there is no loss in them not getting back their entry fee. In your case, well— had you not sacrificed yourself then, you both surely would have made it through the week.” A briefly stop, expression playful; for a moment, Joshua seems much more human. “Your brother, in any case, perhaps could have served to learn more from all of this, don’t you think?”

That jab makes her giggle a little, even if she feels a little bad laughing at Beat when he’s absent; feet swinging out a little from her seat, a little more at ease than she had moments ago. “So then... there’s still something I need to learn?” That’s not so much an unwelcome thing to hear— she can at least take action, in that case. Besides, its not as if she thinks she doesn’t still have things to learn, heavy weight of responsibilities on her shoulders lift momentarily, reminds her that she is still a child in some aspects.

“Are you interested in learning about what you’ve lost?” Expression of mirth, a particular gleam in his eyes, and instinctively she shrinks back when he leans forward.

“How...? What does that entail?” She is timid, a little fearful, and rightfully so, all things considered— for a short moment, she is reminded of her brother’s warnings— but she is intrigued all the same, and does not shy away completely from the prospect.

“I can show you.” All-knowing Cheshire cat smiles, lips pull back to bare teeth; Peter Pan offers an immortal childhood in Neverland in the palm of his hand, held out in offer. “Shall we play a game?”

The weights on her shoulders stop her from lifting her arm, to escape away into the unknown; she feels so heavy with the burden on her shoulders, childhood that she has forgotten. Deep breath—

She shakes off her responsibilities and places a hand in his, accepts invite to be stolen away to Wonderland.

( A certain person smiles behind a cup of coffee. “Couldn’t have waited long enough for me to get back, Josh? Well, your call.” )


	2. ( step two: gather up the 'broken' bits of your soul )

### ( step two: gather up the 'broken' bits of your soul )

She wakes up alone.

Rhyme pushes herself up from the ground and takes a long look around— Spain Hill, she quickly gathers by the sharp scent wafting past her. Brows furrow slightly as she tries to figure out why she’s here, but draws a blank: rather, the last thing she recalls is dying, but something doesn’t completely add up. Distantly, she can hear a muffled yell, vaguely like someone shouting a name; blurs into the background noise of everyday life on the streets, but—

( She is struck with the thought that her brother must be worried sick about her. She wonders if he is around here too, given that she’d been running after him, hadn’t she? )

She can recall dying, but, well; her thoughts do not get the chance to get much further than that, a quiet chirping alert sounding from her phone gains her attention. Flipping over her phone, she scans the message; barely has time to make sense of the words when there’s a sting in her hand and, innately, some part of her knows and understands what she needs to do. Form a pact. Complete missions. Simple, however—

“Watch out!” A voice calls out to her, and she glances up from her phone in time to realize Noise have begun to surround her. Not great, but if she darts left she can probably escape. She’ll take her chances.

And just in time too, apparently; she is scooped up as she dives out of the way of a frog— startled, she peers up at her savior as her fingers grasp for a steady hold. “Gotcha! You ‘kay?” He peers down from beneath his beanie, and despite the rough look this stranger has, she cannot help but feel safe like this; some part of her innately trusts him.

“Yeah. Thanks for saving me.” She feels like she can breathe a little easier now, though her eyes keep watching for any Noise. “Let me properly introduce myself; my name is Rhyme. It’s nice to meet you.”

( There is one memory from the game she can recall with complete clarity )

“Le’s be partners. I mean, we don’t got a lotta time to waste, y’know?” He blurts his words so suddenly and without hesitation that it makes her smile a little, clings to the safety that he brings.

“Sure.”

* * *

When she comes to, she is moving— being moved, that is. A low murmur from somewhere nearby cuts through the muddled buzz that is her consciousness right now; does her best to seem unconscious while she listens in to the conversation and tries to figure out things.

“— and besides, I can’t just do that, Neku. It’s Eri’s birthday we’re talking about! She’s my best friend.” Shiki. So she’s still in Shibuya, then?

“Glad to hear we’re just chopped liver.” A grumble, and Rhyme can imagine that Neku’s probably just shrugged in response. “Listen, you asked for suggestions, I offered. I was just following the directions you gave, so don’t complain.”

“I was hoping you might be a little more optimistic. Lighten up a bit!” She sighs, and she must’ve moved because Shiki suddenly sounds much closer to her than before, and she does her best to mask the slight wince that follows. “You okay, Beat? Do you need a break from carrying her?”

“Nah, not even. If anythin’, kid could stand to gain a few pounds.” And her brother is the last to speak— though his presence had been a foregone conclusion in her mind, she did not expect to be carried by anyone else. And yet, there is a sense of unfamiliarity in referring to her: does he not know her? Is this what the Composer meant by a game?

Conversation has continued on without her, though she has tuned it out while she ponders her situation, beneath her, he shifts his hold on her; a little more awake now, Rhyme now realizes that she’s been carried on his back, and her fingers dig in a little where her arms have been haphazardly slung over his shoulders. “Yo, you ‘wake, kiddo?”

Ah, jig’s up. She hums a soft acknowledgement, lifting her head up slightly. “You can put me down now.”

“Don’t count on it. We found you passed out by Hachiko. Like, no one else seemed to notice? Anyways, I don’t think Beat’s letting you go just yet.” Beat sputters protests at Shiki’s statements ( a very loud “Stop embarrassing me” is shouted ): even as strangers, her brother is the same as always. Rhyme giggles a little at their antics, resting her head back down as she makes sure her thanks is heard; admittedly, whatever had caused her to pass out in the first place was tiring her body. Which is to say, she remembers meeting with Joshua, but she doesn’t exactly know how she got here; which might be besides the point, honestly. She shuts her eyes and listens to Shiki, Neku, and Beat bicker, bites her tongue from joining in.

( Even here, she’s the odd one out, isn’t she? )

It’s fine though, she’ll use the time to glean what she can from their conversation; which is very little, truthfully speaking. Everyone seems mostly the same as she knows them, and yet, there feels something distinctively different about the people here in a way she can’t quite name. It probably doesn’t make a difference, isn’t something of her immediate concern; considers what she needs to do here instead. Unfortunately, she’s still a bit lost in that regard, and clarification does not seem to be coming anytime soon; though maybe she’ll have an opportunity to check her phone soon and she can pray that there’s something there. She doesn’t realize when it’s gone quiet, just that suddenly there are two less voices, and Beat’s repositioning his grip on her again. “Hey, you still awake, or didja fall asleep on me?”

“Asleep.” She murmurs, just to be cheeky, tapping at his arms as she pushes herself up. “I can walk from here.”

Beat seems to consider protesting for a moment before thinking better of it, crouching down a bit as he lets her hop off. “Lemme at least walk back home with ya. It’s getting late.” She peers up towards the sky and he’s right, so she’s inclined to agree, except...

That’s a bit of a problem, really. During the Reapers’ Game, that had never been an issue since besides the factors of how the game worked, people couldn’t see them anyways. Here, however...

She doesn’t have a home to go to. Which means her first manner of business is somehow getting him to leave her be— by convincing him, or some other manner of being.

“I’ll be okay! It’s not... it’s not that far from here.” If she can convince him, that’ll be easiest; though admittedly this might not be the most convincing approach. “Besides, won’t your parents mind if you’re out too late?” It’s definitely already past dinner time, and if she knows what their parents are like, then...

He makes a face at that comment. “Nah. ‘Sides, if you don’t live that far ways, then it’ll be a quick trip anyways.”

Ah. She should have predicted that, honestly. “No, really, it’s okay... I’m fine on my own.”

A scowl. “No way. Tha’s just... it’d be totally uncool of me to let ya go on your own.”

“But...” But she can’t let him, there are no words for her to say, so she falls silent, head hangs low as she screws her eyes shut. Think; she’s always had a good plan when the going gets tough ( but admittedly, life has just generally been rough lately, but she still needs something better to do ). Neither of them say a thing, before finally, he seems to give in, patience runs out quick as he lets out a growl and—

Eyes snap open with a startled gasp as her hand is pulled and she very nearly stumbles over her feet trying to keep up the sudden pace he has set. Bewildered, she stares up at him; though in hindsight, she should not be that surprised— leave it to Beat to do what she least predicts. “We’re gonna get dinner. And then you’re gonna tell me what your deal is, ‘kay?” A pause, and then he glances back at her. “And introductions, it’s gettin’ old real quick just calling you kid.”

“M’kay.” Voice barely more than a whisper, she ignores the sting of grateful tears that have gathered in the corner of her eyes— she’s not that much of a child, anymore; no reason she should be crying over something as small as this. “My name is Rhyme. It’s... it’s nice to meet you.”

( Nice to meet someone she practically knows by heart, anyways )

If that means anything to him, she cannot tell, since he turns back to looking ahead of them. “Rhyme. Cool, cool. I’m Beat.” He keeps to his word and doesn’t press her further for the time being, and she’s grateful for that; focuses on the firm, yet gentle grip on her hand as they take the familiar route to Ramen Don, uses the time to figure out what story she’s going to make up... or at least, figure out one that’ll be convincing enough to fool him, which shouldn’t be too hard, if she knows him nearly as well as she knows her own brother.

They sit up at the bar, where they are greeted by Master Chef Ken ( okay, that’s what she’s always called him growing up, anyways, moving on )— so far, same old same here too. Her feet dangle from the stool as she seats herself, and she pretends to peer over the menu in contemplation. “Pops! The usual Tonkotsu Ramen for me, extra noodles. Tell me when you know what you want?”

“Tonkotsu for me too. Please.” She murmurs, putting away the menu.

“Two tonkotsu ramen, coming right up.” Ken disappears towards the back, leaving the two of them alone again.

“So you’re a fan of the classic meat? Or are you just not that picky?” He asks, and she half shrugs in response.

“A little of both. My brother’s favorite is tonkotsu too... so it’s what I’m used to.” It’s odd speaking about Beat like he’s not right here with her, but that’s for the best, it’d be even weirder otherwise.

“You have a brother? Older or younger?”

“Older. It’s just us two.” She has to bite back a small laugh at the irony of this.

“Some older brotha’ he is, letting you runs ‘round like this unsupervised.” He grumbles, squinting at her. “Ain’tcha like, eight..? How old’s you anyways?”

She pouts a little, but it is in good nature; naturally, it is reinvent of the bantering she is used to between them. “I’m twelve, jeez. I’m not that young.”

“Still young enough that ya shouldn’t be outs on your own, pipsqueak.” He elbows her none too gently, but she had already braced herself for such and doesn’t tilt too far off her seat. “Wha’s so good about a brother who doesn’ keep his lil’ sis safe?”

“He keeps me plenty safe.” Rhyme disagrees; almost too safe, sometimes, she could argue. “Besides, he’s my brother. Why wouldn’t I love him? He’s... sweet.” Sure, not without his own flaws, and they certainly don’t always see eye to eye— but that doesn’t mean she loves Beat any less. Certainly not enough of a reason for her to speak ill of him; the thought of complaining about her brother to his double seems wrong, anyhow.

“Wha’ever, I still have some choice words to say when we getcha home.” He huffs, a pinch of annoyance in his expression— head lifts up, a sniff of the air. “Food’s commin’.” Like some sort of sixth sense, he is indeed correct, as their bowls are brought out to them, though Rhyme’s pretty sure he probably could just hear them finish cooking.

She’s barely finished uttering a quiet thanks for her food, while Beat has already begun to dig into his dish; she bites back a soft giggle, how very much like him.

( Ah. This is no good. It’s been barely, what? A few hours? She is not quite homesick, per say, but missing her brother wasn’t something she’d factored into being an issue— then again, how was she supposed to expect this? Well, no: she probably should’ve known whatever she agreed to with the Composer would’ve been unexpected )

She realizes she’s probably being too quiet and picks up her chopsticks to start eating before she raises any suspicion on his part. Rich broth, well cooked noodles; this is the taste of home, a familiar comfort for this troubled moment in time. There is a brief moment, where her hand moves almost instinctively before she catches herself— habits kick in easily when her mind thinks she is in the same place, with the same person. She is used to bequeathing the meat chunks in her soup to her brother and pilfering some of the noodles from his dish in exchange; but that would be weird action coming from a stranger, and she hangs her head with an embarrassed flush of her cheeks. Again, grateful that he is too busy eating to note any of this, and focuses on actually eating this time, lest her food goes cold.

Beside her, Beat makes a noise of satisfaction when he’s finished eating; leaning on one arm as he observes her. “You shouldn’t put your elbows on the table.” She murmurs after thoroughly chewing a mouthful of noodles. “It’s bad manners.”

“So what? It ain’t in my style to care ‘bout what other people think, yo.” Though he does seem to consider her words and lifts his arm from the countertop; straightening his back. Nothing else is said on the topic, the only noise is other patrons in the shop and the quiet slurp as she eats. She pushes her bowl away when she finishes, murmurs a quick thanks as she pats at her pockets. She should have her wallet on her still, since she’d gone shopping with it this morning...

“What’cha doing?” She stops when he speaks, expression like a deer in the headlights.

“Paying...?” Rhyme says slowly, like it is a perfectly normal and acceptable thing to be doing.

“Stop that, ain’t gonna make a kid for your meal. What kinda messed up world do ya live in?” He pulls out his own wallet, producing the correct amount of change for their meal— she wants to protest, but knows it will do her no good, stifles her feelings and drops her hand; a brief moment, she is briefly reminded of the weight on her shoulders. And then she breathes out, shakes it off, and waves farewell to Ken as she follows Beat out of the shop.

They walk for a bit, because he does not press her to speak, and she doesn’t really know where to start, but she does want to, because they made a deal, and also because even if he’s not her brother, she still doesn’t like hiding things from him. But she can’t tell him the truth, that much was obvious from the start, so she’ll go through with the made-up story like she planned.

Or at least, that had been the plan, but then her mind went and blurted out something else altogether. “I— I’m lost.” Well, that’s not quite a lie. She certainly feels lost, at the very least. “Well, n-not exactly lost, but... I can’t go home right now.”

“How come?” He asks, prods the subject; because he is Beat, she knows it is equal parts out of concern, and out of impatience. Though really, she needs that extra prod right now, if she’s to be honest.

“It’s... complicated.” Particularly because she doesn’t know what exactly she’s supposed to be doing— getting from this. “I just have to wait until I can go home.” There is some truth to that: wait, and do some things, probably. It is just a matter of what she has to do.

“...So you don’t got no place to go, yo. Tha’s messed up.” He says after a moment, and— glad you’re following along, Beat. She nods, the quiet beginnings of an apology dripping from her lips before he shushes her. “Don’chu dare apologize ‘cause I asked in the first place. It’s aight man, think I’ve got an idea. You up for a walk?”

She doesn’t really have many options at the moment, and then there’s the fact that, innately, she trusts him, she will always trust Beat; despite the fact that there may be some flaw in this ‘idea’ of his, she lets him lead the way. After a while she gets an inkling that she knows where they’re going, and it’s admittedly a decent one, even if her reasoning is a different reason than his.

Beat pushes the door open to WildKat like it’s his front door, drags her inside without waiting for any cue that the shop was even open. “Yo, H-Man! You here?”

“No need t’ yell. You’re gonna scare customers one of these days.” Calm voice chides, WildKat’s owner stands there before them. Even back home, she had never met Mr. Hanekoma, so she has no frame of reference of what to expect, for once, a fact that is somewhat refreshing. “This your cousin or somethin’?” Uncomfortably, Rhyme pointedly avoids his gaze, takes a sudden interest in the tiled floor. That just hits a little too close to home right now for her to want to acknowledge— rather, cannot acknowledge, really.

Thankfully, Beat had either missed what he said, or has opted to ignore it, swinging his arm around her shoulders. “H-Man’s cool, Rhyme; relax. You can trust him, trust me. This is Rhyme, by the way, Mr. H. She don’t gots a place right now, so I thought you might be cool with lettin’ her hang here for a while.”

“Do I look like a place for strays to you?” He gripes, and Beat must’ve given him some kind of look, because he follows that up with a sharp laugh. “Aw— don’t give me that look, kid; I was joking. You really thought I was gonna say no? C’mon, I’m not nearly that cruel. You’ll just owe me a favor for this.” Her gaze finally snaps away from the tiles upon hearing that.

“But you cruel enough ta make me owe you one? You drive a hard bargain, but—”

“Th-That’s not necessary. I can— I’ll help out while I’m here to make up for it.” Granted, she probably would have offered to do so anyhow— it’s the least she could do— but especially because Rhyme doesn’t want her presence to be any more of a bother than it’s already been.

“Oh?” For the first time, his gaze really seems to settle on her; peering at her from over the rim of his glasses. “Could maybe stand to learn a thin’ or two from her, Skulls.”

“Naw. Beat wouldn’t be Beat if he did.” She can hear him sputter a little when she speaks and smiles at the hand that settles on her head; does not notice a distant pair of eyes watching the pair of them.

“Fair point. Anyways, you can leave her wit’ me. Hope ya don’t mind the couch, lil’ missy.”

“It’s more than fine, thank you.” A table would have been acceptable, honestly; shoulders sag with relief.

Beat ( not so ) gently slaps her back. “See? Toldja you could trust ‘im.”

“Aight children, say goodnight. One of ya needs to get home before curfew hits.”

“It’s not that late, H-Man.” Beat looks a little put out; but, after a moment’s hesitation, he complies— either he must really respects Hanekoma, or doesn’t want to push his luck tonight. Maybe a little of both, plus depending on their parents; she can only wonder what that relation is like, here. “’kay. I’ll swing by sometime tomorrow, aight?”

“You— you will?” She curses herself for slipping up a little, doesn’t mean to seem so surprised; but they are supposed to be strangers, so its excusable, at least.

“Course. It’s a promise, yo.” He bumps is hand against hers, pinky to pinky— then raises his hand in farewell. “See ya, H-Man.”

“Get going, kid.” It’s said in a kindly manner, she thinks; curious if that is usually characteristic of him to do so, but does not get long to ponder that thought because he turns towards her. “Let’s get you settled for the night, kid.”

* * *

It’s hard to distinguish between what are her memories and what are not sometimes, when bits and pieces of it comes to her in her sleep. Sometimes it is easy to tell what is real, in the exaggerated manner of certain things.

Sometimes, things feel too real to not be at least somewhat rooted in reality, like a hand tightly clasped around her and—

She starts awake, eyes snap open, and she stares up at the ceiling tiredly for a long moment before rolling over on the couch. Even here, she cannot escape nightmares.

( When she was a much younger, younger child; when faced with a nightmare, it had not been her parents she’d ran to, but straight to the comfort of her brother’s bed. For so long, he had stood as a paragon of a protector, so even at the slightest problem she’d run to him, and then—

And then—

Little girl grew up, and stopped running to him for every little thing.

Sometimes, she wishes she could go back to being that child again and talk about the dreams that haunt her. She’s sure Beat would still comfort her, the same way he always has ).

Her hands graze over her neck, like she can still feel a phantom ghost of a touch there, and— she shudders; she supposes that she’s not getting back to sleep quite yet. She gets up from the couch to grab a glass of water, give her something to distract herself with. She walks quietly, does not want to disturb the peace of the night; intrude on a place she doesn’t belong to. She has already been assured to make herself at home, but even reaching into a cupboard feels odd— she’ll probably apologize for intruding in the morning.

Glass in hand, Rhyme turns around— very nearly loses grasp on her glass as she comes face to face with a figure lounging on the countertop. Almost screams, actually; if it were not for the hand slapped over her mouth that makes her a little more aware of her actions.

Oh, right— Mr. Hanekoma had mentioned something about having someone else around, huh? Probably shouldn’t be that surprised. Then again, Joshua was just hanging out there in the dark, so her alarm might be justified, all things considered. Anyways.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. You’re Rhyme, right? I’m Joshua.” Serene smile, all too knowing; though she is fairly certain that this is not the Joshua that she familiar with.

“Right. It’s nice to meet you...?” She wonders if it’d be rude of her to start edging away now.

“I’ve got a message for you. From the me that you know, if that makes sense to you.” It does, if not raises some ( slightly unrelated ) questions, but she figures that must be the Composer’s privilege. She gestures for him to continue speaking, and he crosses his legs. “There are no set terms to this game. This is for your benefit, so you are to find the answer to your dilemma on your own. That’s it. We will be watching, as he says.”

Who is this ‘we’, she wonders— the two of them? “And you?”

“Just the messenger, dear.” He hums, though there’s a certain look in his eyes, and she considers the fact that she probably shouldn’t take what he says at face value.

“Is that all...?” Part of her feels like that can’t be it, given all the warnings she has heard about him before, and part of her feels like there should be something else she has to say; but he simply smiles at her, so she opts to take her leave before she regrets staying and returns to the couch.

So, there are no rules to this game. She mulls over this revelation, fingers tapping against glass mug. But she’s supposed to figure it out on her own terms? That might... take longer than she expected. And watching, her progress will be watched? If she had not been through the reaper’s game before, she might feel upset over this thought; but as she is not, if anything, it is reassuring.

...Still, she needs to get a plan together if she wants this to go well. She sighs, head tilting up to stare up at the ceiling.

It’s going to be a long night.


End file.
